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salemsturniolo-deactivated20260

I have absolutely nothing appropriate to say right now.🫠

🏷️ -> @chrattsdarling @sturnililio @laylasspamaccountwoods @courta13 @hot4sturniolo @matts1989 @sturnl0v3r @urfaveprettypsycho @ketchuplvr @privatelyowned-t @conspiracy-ash @chratts1ut @swiftie-in-the-moonlight @devotedlyteenagemusic @sugarontop88 @mattsbee @chrischerrycola @mamaagirlbehindu123 @bernwentonio @whore4chris @xmattschainx @rainyyy-weather @jasminsturniolo27 @sturniolo-szn2 @angel-sturn1 @rithiisbetter @ariieeesworld @bigmamaluv @chrisfavslutt @siennasturniolo @call-me-ninaaa @sturniologirly22 @ch3rrysturns @mamaarene

chrisssiren

happy black history month to all the beautiful black sturniolo fans and writers on sturnblr!! ^^

gxldlatte

reader that isn’t a bimbo? Reader that is put together and likes dressing up? Reader that’s older than 18-20? Reader that’s not white-coded??? Reader who doesn’t have daddy issues? Reader who does have daddy issues in a “man hater” way? Reader who’s taller than 4’11-5’0?? Reader who’s quiet and reserved and not in a robotic way or stuttering way? Reader who’s Tina Belcher coded? Reader who gives off the vibe of a creepy barn owl but somehow it’s endearing? Reader who’s charismatic and charming? Reader who’s-

flowersfromunderground

Be yourself so ppl looking for u can find u

2utora

cvnntagious

the triplets doing a whole professional ass ad to promote an ai ‘helper’ … eeeyuuuck !!!

februarystargirl

#noshade… they need to put that same amount of effort into their actual videos

hotelstares

viviansturns

𝑳𝑬𝑻 𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑪𝑯 𝒀𝑶𝑼 (part 3)

... in which you FINALLY take virgin!chris' virginity

cw: bondage, edging, virgin!chris very sub!chris, p in v no protection, hickeys, blowjob, handjob, riding :: wc: 3.4k

part 1 :: part 2 :: part 3

A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat between you and Chris on the couch, the cheesy powder dusting your fingertips. The movie droned on, some action flick you'd both lost interest in twenty minutes ago. The real entertainment was the way you both kept glancing at eacother, the way your knees brushed together, the current that arced across the small space separating you.

"So," you started, your voice a low murmur that was closer to the hum of the refrigerator than to the dialogue on screen. "This is exciting."

Chris jumped, almost spilling the soda can balanced on his thigh. "What? Oh. Yeah. Explosions. Very... boom." He gestured vaguely at the television, where a car was flipping in slow motion. His gaze didn't follow his hand; it was fixed on you, wide and dark in the flickering light.

You leaned in, closing the distance until you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. He smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something uniquely him, something nervous and sweet. "I wasn't talking about the movie, Chris."

"Oh." The word was a puff of air, barely audible. His throat worked as he swallowed. He set the soda can down on the coaster with a deliberate, careful movement, as if it were a bomb he needed to defuse.

"Okay," he said, the word bursting out of him like it had been forced. His eyes darted from your face to the popcorn bowl, to the television screen, anywhere but back at you.

Then, with a random burst of confidence and pure need—from waiting months having you each and every way other than sex. "Can you... can we... would you take my virginity?"

The question hung in the air, raw and fragile. A deep, furious blush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. He looked like he wanted the couch to swallow him whole, his shoulders hunching inward, his hands twisting together in his lap. He didn't take it back, though. He just sat there, radiating a heat that had nothing to do with the room temperature, waiting for your answer.

The word left your lips before you even had to think about it. "Sure."

His entire body seemed to sag with a relief so profound it was almost painful to witness. He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the naked, desperate hope in his eyes sent a jolt straight through you.

You stood up, holding out your hand, smirking. "Finally asked. Come on." He took it, his palm sweaty against yours, and let you pull him to his feet. You led him from the living room, down the short hallway to your bedroom, the movie's distant explosions fading behind you. The only light in your room came from a small lamp on the dresser, casting long, soft shadows.

Once you were both standing by the bed, you turned to him. Your thumb stroked over the back of his hand. "We don't have to do this if you don't want but—there's something else I'd like to try," you said, your voice soft but steady. "Can I tie you down?"

His breath hitched. His pupils blew wide, swallowing the blue of his irises. A visible shudder ran through him, and you glanced down, at the now taut fabric of his jeans. He nodded, a jerky, frantic motion, then seemed to find his voice.

"Yes," he choked out, the word a strangled whisper. "God, yes."

A slow smile spread across your face. You let go of his hand and crossed to your closet, pulling out the small box tucked away on the top shelf. Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, were four sets of leather cuffs, connected by a series of chrome chains and buckles.

You lifted them, the metal links jingling softly. "Usually for girls," you said, giving him a little wink over your shoulder.

The sight of the restraints seemed to short-circuit his brain. He just stood there, mouth slightly agape, his gaze fixed on the things in your hands.

"Take your clothes off," you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument. "Everything but your boxers."

His hands fumbled with the button on his jeans, his coordination shot. He managed it, shoving the denim down his legs and kicking them away. His shirt followed, pulled over his head in one clumsy motion. He stood before you in just a pair of plain black boxers, the fabric already tented, a small, dark spot of pre-cum blooming at the tip. He was all long limbs and lean muscle, skin flushed a pretty pink. He looked vulnerable, and edible, and entirely yours.

"Lie down," you said, gesturing to the bed. "In the middle."

He scrambled to comply, sprawling out on the duvet. He watched, transfixed, as you climbed onto the bed after him, the chains of the restraints clinking with your movements. You straddled his chest, the soft fabric of your own shorts brushing against his skin, and took one of his wrists.

"Too tight?" you asked, as you buckled the first cuff into place.

He shook his head, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "No. It's... good."

You secured the other wrist, stretching his arms above his head and clipping them to a short chain that you looped around a slat in the headboard. Then you moved down, securing each ankle to the corners of the bedframe, spreading him wide open. He was taut, the lines of his body pulled into a perfect, tense X.

When you were done, you sat back on your heels and just looked at him. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm. The pre-cum stain on his boxers had grown, a dark, telling patch against the black cotton.

You started at his collarbones, leaning down to press your lips against the hollow of his throat. He whimpered, a high, breathy sound that vibrated against your mouth. You nipped at the skin there, sucking gently until a faint red mark blossomed to the surface.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed, the words a strained puff of air.

You smiled against his skin and moved on, marking a path down his chest. You spent a little extra time on his nipples, worrying one between your teeth while you pinched the other. He arched into the touch as much as the restraints would allow, a desperate, needy sound tearing from his lips. His squirming was becoming more frantic, the chains of the cuffs rattling softly with every movement.

Lower. You trailed kisses over the flat plane of his stomach, dipping your tongue into his navel. His breath hitched, coming in short, sharp pants. You could feel the muscles in his abdomen trembling beneath your lips.

You bypassed the straining fabric of his boxers, ignoring the blatant, silent plea there, and moved to his thighs.

"Please," he gasped out as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. "Please, y/n. Please."

"Please what, Chris?" you murmured, your breath hot against his skin.

"Please... touch me." The words were a ragged confession. "I need... I need..."

You decided to take pity on him. Still kneeling between his spread legs, you brought your hand up to the front of his boxers. The fabric was soaked with pre-cum, hot and damp against your palm. You cupped him, feeling the heavy weight of him through the thin cotton.

A broken moan came from his chest. His hips bucked upwards, chasing the friction, a frantic, involuntary movement. You pressed down, holding him still, and began to palm him in slow, deliberate circles. The heel of your hand ground against the head of his cock, and he cried out, the sound sharp and desperate.

"More," he begged, tugging uselessly at the restraints. "Please, more. I'm begging you."

"Hmm," you agreed, your voice a low, possessive hum. "You are."

You watched him come apart, watched the way his face contorted with pleasure, the way a fine sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead. He was beautiful like this, lost to sensation, a slave to the lightest touch of your hand.

Finally, when he was a writhing, pleading mess, when you thought a single more stroke might push him over the edge, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down, freeing him.

His cock slapped against his stomach, flushed a dark, angry red and leaking copiously. He was big—the head swollen and shiny with fluid. You wrapped your hand around the base, giving it a slow, experimental tug.

He jolted as if struck by lightning, a choked-off cry catching in his throat. "Oh, god. Oh, god, don't stop."

You had no intention of stopping. You leaned down and took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. The taste of him, salty and clean, flooded your senses. You hollowed your cheeks and sank down, taking him as deep as you could.

His reaction was immediate and overwhelming. A strangled gasp, a full-body shudder. The chains on the cuffs rattled wildly as he thrashed against the bed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted, the words a mindless spew of pleasure. "I'm... I'm gonna... gonna come..."

Just as you felt him begin to twitch, just as his whole body went taut with the beginning of orgasm, you pulled off.

"F-fuck," The cry was one of pure anguish, torn from his throat. He bucked his hips wildly, searching for the lost sensation. "Please, please, please, don't stop. I was so close. I was right there."

You wiped a stray drop of saliva and pre-cum from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand and looked up at him. His face was a mess of desperation, his eyes wide and pleading, tears of frustration pricking at the corners.

"Hold it," you commanded, your voice soft but firm. "Don't you dare come until I say you can."

He let out a sound that was half-sob, half-whimper, but he nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. His entire body was trembling with the effort of holding back, of fighting against his own pleasure. You could see the pulse beating wildly in the side of his neck. You waited, giving him a moment to wrestle back a sliver of control.

Once his breathing had evened out slightly, once the frantic thrashing had subsided, you leaned back down. But instead of taking him into your mouth again, you just blew a stream of cool air over his wet, straining cock.

He whimpered, a high, helpless sound. His hips twitched, but he held still, obeying your command.

You pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to the very tip.

You straightened up, your hands moving to the hem of your shirt. In one smooth motion, you pulled it over your head and tossed it aside. Chris's eyes, which had been squeezed shut, flew open. His gaze fixed on your chest, on the simple black lace of your bra, and his breath hitched.

You reached behind your back, unhooking the clasp with practiced ease. The fabric fell away, and your breasts were bare to him. He made a low, guttural sound.

You shifted forward, straddling his chest again, and leaned down. "Open your mouth," you whispered.

He obeyed instantly, his lips parting. You guided one of your nipples to his mouth, and he latched on with a desperate, hungry suction. The wet heat of his mouth sent a jolt straight to your core. He moaned around your flesh, the vibration buzzing through you, a deep, resonant pleasure. He wasn't gentle; he was frantic, sucking and nipping, lost in the sensation. His hips began to buck upwards again, searching for friction against the empty air, a hopeless, needy rhythm. You let him worship one breast, then the other, all while he muffled his desperate sounds against your soft skin, pulling so hard against the cuffs you thought they might leave marks.

Finally, you pulled away, leaving him panting. You slid back down his body, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your own shorts and panties. You peeled them down your legs, kicking them off the bed. You were completely bare now.

Chris stared, his gaze roaming over you, hot and reverent. His own cock was still flushed and weeping, lying hard against his stomach.

You positioned yourself over him, one hand on his chest to steady yourself. With the other, you took hold of him, lining him up with your entrance. You could feel the heat of him, the insistent pressure against your slick folds.

"Look at me, Chris," you ordered. His eyes snapped to yours, wide and dark and dazed.

Slowly, torturously, you began to sink down.

The stretch was exquisite. He was thicker than he looked, and the feeling of him filling you, inch by inch, stole the air from your lungs. You took him all the way, until you were fully seated, your hips resting against his.

A broken, gasping sob tore from Chris's throat. His whole body went rigid. His eyes rolled back in his head, his lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. He was trembling violently, pulling against the restraints with a new fevor. The chains rattled a frantic, percussive beat against the headboard.

"Don't come," you warned, your own voice strained with pleasure. The feeling of him inside you, hot and hard and impossibly deep, was blissful. "I told you to hold it."

"I can't," he choked out, the words ragged. "Oh, god, I can't. It's too... you're so... fuck..."

"Yes, you can," you breathed, and began to move.

You rose up slowly, feeling every delicious, dragging inch of him as he withdrew, before sinking back down just as slowly. The pace was maddening, a deliberate, tantalizing rhythm that was designed to push you both to the absolute limit. Each downward press had him hitting that perfect, sensitive spot deep inside you, and you couldn't hold back your own whimpers.

He was a mess beneath you. A constant stream of whimpers and pants and choked-off curses fell from his lips. His head was thrown back against the pillows, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. Sweat beaded on his forehead and chest, making his skin gleam in the soft lamplight. He was fighting a losing battle, every muscle in his body clenched with the effort of obeying you, of holding back the tidal wave of his orgasm.

"Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Please, y/n. Let me come. I need it. I need to come inside you. Please."

The raw, desperate plea sent a thrill through you. You picked up the pace just a fraction, riding him a little faster, a little harder. The drag of him against your walls was divine, a sweet friction that coiled tension deep in your belly. Your own breathing grew ragged, your moans coming more frequently. You were getting close, too.

His begging was your undoing. The sound of him so utterly wrecked, so completely at your mercy, sent you hurtling toward the edge. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, the new angle allowing him to hit you even deeper.

"Shit, Chris," you gasped, your own climax cresting. "F-fuck, so big. Want you to cum in me."

It was like a switch had been flipped. His body bowed up off the bed, a tense, arching strain as the orgasm he'd been fighting so hard crashed over him. His eyes rolled fully to the back of his head as he let out one last quiet whimper, his face a mask of pure ecstasy. You felt him pulse inside you, a hot flood that seemed to go on and on. You could feel it filling you up to the brim, spilling out of you a bit and coating your thighs.

The sight and feel of him coming undone beneath you, sent you over the edge with him. Your own orgasm ripped through you, a violent, shuddering wave of pleasure. You cried out, your back arching, your nails digging into the sweat-slick skin of his chest as you rode out the tremors.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your ragged gasps for air and the soft, wet sounds of you still rocking gently against him. Chris was utterly still beneath you, completely limp, his chest heaving. His eyes were closed, his face slack with a profound, post-orgasmic exhaustion. The frantic energy had been completely spent.

Slowly, carefully, you lifted yourself off him. A wave of his release followed, a warm, sticky trickle down your inner thighs. You flopped onto the bed beside him, your body feeling boneless and sated.

After a moment to catch your breath, you pushed yourself up. You reached for the buckle on his left wrist, your fingers moving with a practiced ease. The leather came away with a soft click, revealing a faint red indentation on his skin. You moved to the other wrist, then down to his ankles, freeing each limb in turn.

Throughout the entire process, he remained silent and still, only moving when you prompted him to lift a limb.

You lay down beside him, pulling the duvet over your tangled limbs. The silence that followed wasn't awkward, but heavy, full of everything that had just happened. You propped yourself up on an elbow, your gaze tracing the lines of his face. He turned his head toward you, his eyes still hazy, a lazy, contented smile playing on his lips.

"You're staring," he murmured, his voice raspy.

"I am," you admitted softly. "How are your wrists?"

He flexed them, looking at the red marks. "Good," he said, then corrected himself with a quiet chuckle. "I mean, they're fine. They don't hurt." He let out a long, slow breath, the sound filled with a deep, soul-deep contentment. "Wow."

"Wow?" you giggled, a smile touching your own lips.

"Yeah," he said, his gaze locking with yours, and for the first time that night, there was no desperation, just a clear sincerity. "I'm... I'm so glad it was you." His voice was barely a whisper, the words intimate and raw. "I couldn't have... I wouldn't have wanted it to be anyone else."

Your heart did a strange little flip in your chest.

You leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. "I'm glad it was me, too," you whispered against his mouth. Then you pulled back, sliding out of the warm nest of the duvet. "Come on."

"Where?" he asked, his voice still soft and sleepy.

You stood up, stretching your arms over your head, feeling a pleasant ache in your muscles. "Let's take a shower."

His eyes followed you, dark and appreciative. A slow grin spread across his face as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Okay," he agreed, the word a low, eager hum. "Yeah. Let's."

a/n- woahh did reader casually mention shes also into women?? #representation #iluvwomen #meow

gifs by @vxnitra i think? i edited them too i think i cant remember loll

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